Category — Uncategorized

Yesterday I was at the United State of Women White House summit. It was an amazing line up of speakers: The First Lady, President, and Vice President. Oprah, Amy Poehler, Kerry Washington, Loretta Lynch, Nancy Pelosi. Hundreds of amazing speakers, all talking on the same theme: Today we’ll change tomorrow.

Many of the speakers began with a moment of silence or recognition for those killed in Orlando… except one. Bamby Salcedo from the TransLatin Coalition asked for a moment of power. In other words, no more silence. There was a time for silence immediately following the murders when we were trying to untangle our brains and pay our respects, but now, days later, it is time to scream.

We all let out a roar, and it was probably the most emotional moment in a very emotional day. To hear all those angry women screaming for gun control laws, screaming for the right to be able to go out of the house and be safe, screaming for communities to come together and demand better from lawmakers.

Because at this point, moments of silence feel more akin to a lack of action.  People are using silence and prayer to fill the space rather than doing something to effect change.

That was my take away from yesterday. There is definitely a time for silence. But after that silence is over, it’s time to scream.

Thank you, Bamby Salcedo, for reminding us of that.

I’m working on making a game, and it’s really hard.  It’s hard to find the story in something that isn’t linear.  It’s hard to write in code.  But mostly, there is something I want to do with the game that would make it better for a larger audience, but it’s really hard to do, and I’ve been trying to give myself permission to not do it.  Because it’s hard.

And I’m not a fan of hard.

Lifehacker had an article about making doing hard things a family affair, and I assume the same would go for forming a “hard thing” group of adults and promising to each other that you’re going to stick with what you decide to do.

But here’s the thing: Those articles never tell you “how” to stick to that hard thing.  Just that you need to push through and stick with it.  I get that the specific answer will be different depending on the project, but I’ve yet to find a good piece of advice that helps me get past the realization that I could trim something down and do it in an easier manner but stick with the harder route anyway.

Currently, I’m still pushing through because it feels like the right thing to do, and I’ll always wonder if the game would have been better if I had made it the original way.  I’ve reached out to friends to set up a “hard thing” group so I have people to talk me out of quitting.  But damn, it’s hard to stick to something hard when you know that there is nothing stopping you from choosing the easier route.

The most magical town in the world is only an 8 1/2 hour drive from my home.

It’s not far from the American Museum of Magic (about 45 minutes apart). Colon is also home to the Magic Get Together in August, the long-running magic convention.

I like real magic almost as much as I like imaginary magic.

Road trip?

He smells.  Actually, “smells” doesn’t really cover it, but I’ll spare you the graphic description I was about to pull out of my pocket.  His eye is still oozing white gunk, his head still tilted to the side.  But he is stumbling around his cage like he’s drunk, a step up from the numerous days where he has barely had energy to open his mouth for my syringe of water.  He’s eating a bit of food along with the meal supplement, and he has managed to gnaw through a few of his beloved cookies.  It feels like we’re working our way back to somewhere good.

I’ve never really been in love with the term “fur baby” but… that is what he is.  He is my baby.  I mean, he is the actual replacement for the human child I was supposed to have, and I treat him as I would a human baby.  The ChickieNob refers to him as my third child, and sometimes mutters that he is my most important child.  But he’s just the one who needs me the most; who is wholly dependent upon me for every one of his needs.

People keep joking this week that I clearly need another kid, and I know they don’t mean harm from it.  Plus it’s hard to back pedal out of that conversation train when the person responds that they did try to add a child to their family but weren’t successful.  I get it.  It’s uncomfortable, and I’m not trying to make people uncomfortable.  I agree with them — clearly, based on the way I treat my guinea pig like a third child, I should have had another child.

But I don’t need to explain to all of you how that cuts into my heart when it’s already feeling swollen and raw.

Anyway, thank you for abiding with me.  I’ve told Truman that there is a lot of love from around the world flowing his way.  He mostly just looks at me blankly and then stumbles around, knocking into everything because he has no sense of balance.  But I like to think that he understands.

Some pictures from last night’s tummy time:

You can still see the head tilt, but at least he’s up and about.

I woke up at 1:55 am on Monday morning, certain that the day was going to hold bad news.  His condition didn’t change over the weekend, by which I mean that it didn’t get worse, but it certainly didn’t get better.  When I went to bed Sunday night, his head was still tilted to the side.  He would eat if we put the food to his mouth and drink if I gave him water in a syringe.  But he could barely walk.  He hadn’t made a sound in almost a week.  He couldn’t bite into his alfalfa cookies.

I spent the morning before we left for the vet with my stomach in knots.

I’m glad we waited.  I am clearly saying that in retrospect because we got to see our normal vet instead of a stranger, and I’m sure I would be saying otherwise if he hadn’t made it through the weekend.  But our vet has a basis of comparison for his normal self vs. his last week self vs. his current self.  Plus she is so compassionate and patient: With me and with him.

She thinks the infection has spread to his brain or inner ear.  She switched the antibiotic to one that gets into the central nervous system — though not one the other vet was suggesting — and put him on a food supplement to keep him from losing more weight.  She wants me to keep giving him water from a syringe.  And she warned that if he starts rolling over, he is having seizures and needs to be euthanized quickly.

She also said that she has never seen a guinea pig this sick rally so hard.  That guinea pigs are usually poor patients that give up fairly easily in the face of infection.  But she said that it was a good sign that he was fighting this hard to get through this.  I am going to cling to that thought because my brain cannot go to the otherwise without melting down.  He has to get better.

My poor sweet boy is resting a lot.  I’ll post another update this week when things get better.  Thank you for abiding with me though this.